Hope Found and Lost
by spinspin
Summary: First Robin Hood fiction. Robin and Marian's thoughts during their interactions during the first episode of the first series. Reviews are lovely.


Hope

I did just go to see the old Sheriff. Really I did. The part of me which wished to see her again knew that such a joy could not be had by visiting her father's home. She would be off married to some other noble, with a household to look after and a babe clutching her skirts. Five years was four years too many. Maybe not for me, but certainly for her. I would never have to worry about safety and security, but she would, being a woman, and take precautions accordingly. This was not because I thought that she was incapable of taking care of herself, but because this is what is expected.

So when the door opened behind the raving lunatic who had once treated me like his own son, revealing the beauty who I had only seen in my dreams, what was I about to do but stand there and feel a foolish grin stretch across my face. My dreams could never portray her quite so accurately, her glare, her perfect bow stance that I myself had taught her, the curls which caressed her shoulders before disappearing behind her back. Not even seeing Locksely again could compare to the joy of seeing her, standing there, deadly, fierce, and blessedly unmarried.

In that instance I would have let England fall down around me as a crumpled ruin without a care, as long as I could see her again. To have the hope that someday I might be lucky enough to be happy again. The grin would not leave my face, and despite Much's protests I was content to let it remain.

Restraint

For a moment I let myself believe that the way he struts into the counsel meeting means that he really can change everything. His defiance is refreshing in a world which has long since become complacent. Though almost instantly my restraint is back solidly in place, keeping me from acknowledging him, from speaking up in his defence. Instead I remain a still and silent decoration behind my father taking in more then a woman should.

When I meet him to pass on my father's message my restraint is of a different kind. I no longer hold my tongue, allowing it to lash quick as a whip. Though my remarks seem to make no difference. I don't admit that I care for his safety, now that he has finally returned from the Holy Land unscathed, almost as much as I care for my ailing father's. When he looks deep into my eyes and tries to kiss me I want more than anything to stay my protesting hand. To instead thread it through his hair, pull him closer, allow him to push me up against the wall and explore the crevices of my mouth with his tongue. To melt away this terrible world which I am caught up in for just a moment, and skip back to a past when everything was right.

Restraint forces me to flash a lady's smile, a smile which could mean anything and nothing all at once. Forces me to turn my back and walk away with my head held high, the heels of my riding boots clicking the stone. The tears of frustration which I feel at that moment will never be shed, as cold resolve overtakes me once more.

Two Blows

Is it not enough that four men will hang because of my rashness, my pride? For I cannot believe that they would be in the same situation had I not stood up for what is right. Is it not enough that I didn't allow my fist to make contact with the Sheriff's jaw smashing it to pieces? Of course it isn't. For I have to watch quietly as the woman I love walks away on the arm of the man who ruined my estate and placed the fear of God into my once law abiding serfs. A man who at this moment I utterly despise with every ounce of my being. Two blows and I have yet to be home two days.

Fear

Fear makes me speak out when I know that I should not. I don't want him to die doing something rash, not now, a small part of me in the back of my mind whispers, not ever. There must be something that I can do to make him see reason, to exercise restraint as I do, as my father does. I knew before he entered the house that he would not listen to my father's advice but I had hoped, judging by his reaction to seeing me yesterday and today, that he might listen to me.

I hate it when they silence me, because I am a woman, only to turn around and say that I am right. If I am so right so often then why am I not allowed to speak when I wish? For a brief moment my mind flashes to the night-watchmen costume secreted in my bedchamber and I calm slightly knowing that it is my revenge.

The fear that was pushed away by my anger is back, gripping me right in the heart. Why is it that it is only on his return that my heart seems to exist again? Why is it that he cannot see that I don't want him to die? Don't want to see his feet kick empty air as his body swings morbidly, a rope tight around his neck. That I don't want to grieve for the loss of a life I have yet to regain. A life with him.

Hairpins

Of all the implements that have saved my life, from barrel covers, to throwing stars, hairpins had never been on the list until now. The first thought that entered my mind once her eyebrows raised in answer to my questioning glance was that she must have been training hard while I was gone to be able to throw so accurately left handed. It is a silly thought when I should be thinking of a way to get out of the castle alive, so I don't think anymore.

Once I am safely riding away with Much at my back, I allow my mind to wander. I think of her, of how the glorious revelation that she doesn't want me dead fills me with contentment. Though such contentment doesn't last long. I realize too late that by not going back for the hairpin I could put her in danger if someone were to connect it back to her. Realize that without my lands I will have nothing to offer her, and without her no hope of true happiness.

As we enter the darkness of the forest I push these thoughts away, I have other problems to deal with that are far more immediate than love, than happiness. I have lived these past five years without happiness, why was I foolish enough to allow myself to hope for happiness now?


End file.
